


A Brief Encounter

by eliza_doolittlethings



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aliens, Possession, Pre mystrade - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-12 23:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliza_doolittlethings/pseuds/eliza_doolittlethings
Summary: “And you’re perfectly fine now?” Molly asked, scalpel in her gloved hand.“So they say,” Greg sounded doubtful, shrugging his shoulders, arms crossed over his chest.“How much do you remember?” Molly was carefully incising the belly of a female corpse.“Not much,” Greg’s quick reply was followed by, “Everything?” He looked confused.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to say that this would not have happened if not for Lavender_and_Vanilla's constant support and help. She truly is a remarkable person!

_Scene 1- St. Bart’s Lab… One month ago, evening..._

Mycroft stepped into the lab quietly and stood still, his fingers not leaving the door knob, listening intently for Sherlock’s movements. His agents had informed him of a presence close to him, almost tailing him that they couldn’t identify.

  
The familiar head, with salt and pepper hair made him pause. In that exact moment the Inspector turned around, a blank expression on his face, eyes assessing. The Government Official returned the stare.

  
Mycroft observed but could not place the subtle change in demeanor of the Inspector. “I was looking for Sherlock,” he spoke, closely following the man’s reaction.

  
“Me too,” the Inspector responded dully.

  
“Maybe he’s in the PM room with Molly?” the Ice Man continued, indicating to the door.

  
“Of course,” was the curt reply.

  
Mycroft narrowed his eyes, rolling his tongue along his left cheek, pursed his lips and finally asked, “Shall we?”

  
“Um, coffee first?” Lestrade licked his lips while walking out the door.

  
“I’m sorry Inspector, but it is a matter of utmost urgency. Maybe later,” Mycroft brushed off the invitation and stood watching the man walk away with an emotionless face.

* * *

_Scene 2 - St. Bart’s Lab… Present day, evening..._

  
“And you’re perfectly fine now?” Molly asked, scalpel in her gloved hand.

  
“So they say,” Greg sounded doubtful, shrugging his shoulders, arms crossed over his chest.

  
“How much do you remember?” Molly was carefully incising the belly of a female corpse.

  
“Not much,” Greg’s quick reply was followed by, “Everything?” He looked confused.

  
Molly glanced at him, her hand deftly continuing the incision.

  
“You know how when you feel you have dreamt something but in truth it had actually happened?” Greg stood next to her one hand tucked over the elbow of the other, which was gesticulating animatedly, then rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  
“How can you remember things you were not a part of?” Molly stood resting her left hand on the corpse, the right that held the scalpel hovering in mid-air.

  
“I don’t know! It’s like a movie flash back or something. They come to me bit by bit. As if someone is playing a reel inside my head!” Exasperatedly Greg flung himself on the adjacent stretcher, dislodging the corpse on it.

  
“Sorry,” he muttered, looking at it and carefully shifted the body back to position. “I need to confirm something,” Greg suddenly left the PM room, leaving a perplexed Molly with the corpse as companion.

* * *

_Scene 3 - The Diogenes… One month ago, late evening..._

  
Sherlock barged into the Diogenes Club entering the inner sanctum right away.

  
“What have you done to him?!” he demanded, confronting the seated brother.

  
“On the contrary, Sherlock. I was about to ask you if you could explain the change in the Inspector,” Mycroft drawled as he rose from the chair by the fireplace and walked towards his desk.

  
Opening a file he spread out a few photographs.

  
Sherlock approached him half-heartedly and looked over his shoulder. The pictures were clips from the cctv footage of the lab.

  
9:26 p.m. / Sherlock leaving the lab.

  
9:27 p.m. / A misty from in the lab.

  
9:28 p.m. / Greg entering the lab.

  
9:30 p.m. / Greg’s face contorted, mouth open, head flung back.

  
9:35 p.m. / Mycroft entering the lab.

  
“What is it?” Sherlock whispered, his voice, a disbelieving tone.

  
“Any experiment you were working on, brother dear?” was Mycroft’s mocking rejoinder.

  
Sherlock gave him a scathing look, sat by the desk and opened the security feed using Mycroft’s laptop.

  
Pouring over it for over an hour, going through each second, he almost gave up, when he heard the soft voice of his brother, “You will have more luck with the Inspector’s office feed probably.”

The cold calculated voice echoed in the night air of the silent club.

* * *

_Scene 4 - Baker Street… One month ago, the same night..._

  
“You really think this is a good idea?” John was pacing the kitchen floor, taking a peek at the dozing form of the Inspector huddled on their living room sofa.

  
“Hello, brother mine. Yes, and there is something of importance to be discussed. No, you will have to be here. Yes,” Sherlock smiled wide, cut the call, slipped the phone into his dressing gown pocket and walked out.

  
“Sherlock!” John followed, hands fisted in fury, “Sherlock!! We have no idea what he’ll do!”

  
Sherlock stood looking at the sleeping form, palms aligned together, in a meditative pose, then smiled widely and with glee replied, “Exactly John!”

  
The doorbell rang and John moved to the door, but Sherlock waved his hand and said, “Wait.”

  
Mrs. Hudson’s voice could be heard from below, then the steady tread of shoes and Mycroft appeared at the open door, umbrella gripped in his gloved hand. He looked over at the standing doctor, nodded a greeting and pursed his lips seeing the prone figure of the Inspector.

  
“Have a seat.” Sherlock smiled wide indicating John's chair.

  
Hearing his brother’s mocking tone, Mycroft narrowed his eyes and licked his lips, controlling the need to retort. Removing his coat and gloves he walked over to John’s sofa and he settled in, gently twirling the umbrella with his right hand.

  
“I’ll make some tea,” John spoke to nobody in particular and escaped into the kitchen.

  
Ten minutes later, John entered with the tea tray into the silent living room. Grimacing a little, he poured out the tea for the three of them, then took a chair and sat by the sofa.

  
Sipping the tea, he occasionally examined the sleeping Inspector’s forehead and sighed.

  
Mycroft had not touched his tea. Watching his brother sip his, he narrowed his eyes, totally unable to predict the next move. Infuriated, he turned to the doctor, gave a deprecating smile and asked, “ So, Doctor, what do you think of the patient?”

  
John looked like a deer caught in a headlight and glanced at Sherlock. “Um, ..”

  
“I drugged him so that we could have a,” Sherlock wrinkled his brow in thought, and added, “.. chat.”

  
“About what?” Mycroft sounded amused and perplexed.

  
“About ‘_The Men In Black_’.”

  
Mycroft’s eyes widened a little at the monotonous voice of his brother.


	2. Chapter 2

_Scene 5- Baskerville Hall... Early the next morning..._

“So this is your .. _ Rudloe Manor* _?” John looked around, hands clasped behind his back.

Mycroft gave a tight smile and signaled to a tall man dressed in a jet black suit with sunglasses. “This way, gentlemen,” he reluctantly led them to what looked like a makeshift medical tent in the dilapidated hall of the manor.

“And Sherlock, please don’t touch anything,” Mycroft’s exasperated tone made John snigger.

“What’s Rudloe Manor?” Sherlock whispered to John triggering a heated discussion, neither paying attention to the occupants in the tent.

“Mycroft!” Greg’s slurred exclamation made them stop their bickering.

“That’s what happens when you drug a man without thought,” Mycroft was trying hard to hold the Inspector back, who seemed quite delighted to see the elder Holmes, making no pretensions about it.

_... Minutes later..._   
  


“And this is your plan!” Mycroft’s face was red with rage.

They were standing outside the medical tent. Mycroft with arms crossed over his chest and a look of disbelief listening to Sherlock. The suggestion that he, Mycroft--The Ice Man, entice the Inspector to bring joy into his soul was incomprehensible.

“You are the only person who can keep him under control without ‘drugging’ him!” Sherlock exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

“Calm down, both of you,” John rose from his perch on the side of a table and approached the Government Official.

“I think he is right. Until we find out why this … alien or whatever has entered Greg’s body, you need to be with him, make him comfortable. He does seem to warm up to you,” John said, patting Mycroft’s arm and then muttered, “Never would’ve guessed.”

“I’m positive that there are less harmful drugs to sedate him without giving him hallucinations,” Mycroft’s contrite reply got no response for the wailing sound that arose from the tent that Greg was in made them rush over.

“We tried to sedate him, Sir, with pentobarbital,” the male nurse was seen wrestling with Greg, whose limbs were flailing and head thrown back. His face started turning a deep shade of blue and he slumped in the nurse's arms.

“He’s becoming apneaic!” John shouted. 

Sherlock rummaged among the instruments, John joined him and together they intubated the Inspector.

* * *

_Scene 6- Baskerville Hall... Dawn, the next day..._

“Why this reaction? Is it the inhabitant in his body that’s causing it?” Mycroft sat stoically, hands resting on the armrest, fingers steepled, brow wrinkled.

“I checked with the nurse. There was nothing wrong with the dosage. Maybe the .. alien is afraid of being made immobile?” John sighed as he paced the hall, hands deep in his trouser pockets.

“This is my fault,” Sherlock muttered, staring out of the tall window into the darkness.

“How so?” John walked towards the still form of the Detective.

“That ‘Alien Sighting’ the killer was talking about last week, when we apprehended him, you remember? Well, he gave me an artefact; I gave it to the Inspector, for safekeeping.”

* * *

_Scene 7- The Diogenes... Present day, evening..._

“I need to see Mr. Holmes. Could you tell him DI Lestrade is here?” Greg hurriedly asked the desk clerk, running his hand through the already ruffled hair.

“One moment Sir,” the man gave an acknowledging nod and picked up the receiver of a landline. Pressing a button he waited. 

“Yes Sir.” A pause, then, “No Sir… It is DI Lestrade, Sir… I shall Sir.”

Replacing the receiver, he looked up at the Inspector and said, “You may go in. It is the room at the end of the corridor.”

“Thank you,” Greg gave a tight smile, dipped his hands inside his coat pockets and walked away.

* * *

_Scene 8- Baskerville Hall... The second morning..._

“Gregory, you need to rest,” Mycroft, sans coat and tie, waistcoat buttons undone, socked feet revealing twitching toes, got up from the chair in the Hall.

Greg, dressed in a hospital gown was slowly approaching him. Mycroft looked at his bare feet and for a moment stood perfectly still.

Realising that the man had seated himself in the opposite chair he looked up into brown eyes and felt he saw the Inspector there, not whatever it was that had taken possession of the body.

“You will catch a cold,” the Ice Man grimaced, noting the insincerity in his voice.

“How long have you known me?” Greg asked, in his usual diplomatic tone.

Mycroft avoided those eyes and replied, “15 yrs.”

“Did you not ever want to ask me out?” Greg’s voice wavered a little, making the Govt. Official look up.

Sighing, he rubbed his forehead thoughtfully and said, “You must know it is not as simple as that.”

“Is it because of Sherlock?” the Inspector’s tone slightly accusatory.

“At first,” Mycroft admitted. “Then it became impossible when I was promoted. Not impossible,” Mycroft paused, then added, “You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t,” Greg responded, watching the elder Holmes intently.

“We can talk later, when you are better,” Mycroft stood up and walked towards the tent.

Greg was behind him in a jiffy. Sensing the presence, Mycroft whipped around and moved back, a defensive stance evident in his posture.

“I only wanted to thank you for being here, now,” Greg smiled softly and walked past him into the tent.

Mycroft made to go after him but halted on hearing his brother’s voice behind him, “Don’t trust him. He is not himself right now.”

Staring after the Inspector for a second, he walked back to the chair and picked up the glass of whiskey draining it in one go.

“Where is John?” Mycroft enquired, staring into the fire.

“Next floor, in the makeshift lab, with the _ doctor _,” Sherlock said sarcastically occupying the chair that Greg had vacated.

“It is not easy to accept that which does not follow the principles of logic,” Mycroft stated, sitting down, his mind clearly elsewhere. “What can we do to get him back to his usual self?” The tremor in Mycroft’s voice was the first emotional break his brother had ever seen.

“The entity that was trapped in the artefact was released by Lestrade. I have deciphered the hieroglyphics. It is an ancient Chinese _ totem _. The spirit can be released by only one pure of heart filled with a sadness that is not known to himself.” He looked meaningfully at Mycroft who shifted uneasily in his seat. Letting out a deep breath Sherlock continued, “There is a spring catch at the centre of the coin that releases a sharp (iron) needle which is poisoned. A prick breaches one’s aura, allowing the entity to gain entrance into the vessel; in this case Lestrade. He had come in search of me in the lab, to ask about the artefact. If I had been there ..” Sherlock’s monologue was cut short by his brother.

“Don’t be daft! Of all the times to feel responsible for your mistakes this isn’t one of them!” the elder Holmes bellowed. Sighing Mycroft continued, “I apologise. This has been a trying few days and I have my work pending.”

The pause in conversation extended through the evening into the night.

* * *

_Scene 9- Baskerville Hall... Later that night, dawn of the 3rd day..._

“Sherlock.” John entered the Hall, walked towards the silent brothers and waited in the middle next to a desk.

“The PhD guy thinks it’s our best shot,” John whispered, hands folded across his chest, head bent, nose wiggling, mouth twisted in thought.

“Mycroft will not agree to this,” Sherlock replied, eyes focussed ahead, speculating something. Then abruptly he turned and walked off.

“May I be included in these discussions as it is quite apparent that I play some role in this whole drama,” Mycroft had approached John and stood condescendingly apart; his head tilted to one side, an eyebrow raised, mirroring John’s stance.

“You won’t like it.”

“Try me.”

“Well, the .. doctor says you need to entice the .. vessel to lure the spirit out.” John paused, then added, “Or so it says in the … coin.” Watson moved back, putting his hands up as if in self-defence on seeing the astonished look on Mycroft’s face.

“Is this the man the government is relying on to do scientific research!?” Mycroft was indignant.

John gave a ‘I told you’ look and smiled while shrugging his shoulders.

“Like it!? Oh, I LOVE IT!” Mycroft responded sarcastically.

“I’ve arranged for a dinner date, on the 3rd floor of the Hall. It should be set up by evening. YOU need to get dressed and look the part. Anthea will bring clothes for you to change into. Better go shave. Wait! Maybe it will be better if you keep the beard. And do not dye your hair!” Sherlock had appeared by his side and rushed him out of the Hall giving Mycroft no time to retort or protest.

* * *

_Scene 10- The Diogenes... Present day..._

“Come in.”

Greg stood hesitating for a moment, almost as if he didn’t hear the voice, his hand resting on the door handle. It turned and Greg felt the pull as the door opened into the room. Hastily retrieving his arm the Inspector looked up into the pale face of the government official, who stood waiting for him by the open door.

“I ..” Greg looked exhausted and lost.

“If it’s of no importance maybe we can discuss this later?” Mycroft’s cold dismissive tone made Greg focus on those icy blue eyes, assessing the government official’s emotions.

Gathering courage he asked, “I seem to remember stuff that I am not sure actually happened. Was hoping that you could fill me on the particulars.”

The Inspector stood staring at his feet, biting his lower lip and licking it thoughtfully, shoulders hunched, looking half the size of his former self.

Mycroft was unable to ignore the deep sense of sadness that arose in his heart, “Why don’t you come in,” he said softly, opening the door fully and moving inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rudloe Manor-- "RAF Rudloe Manor - Wikipedia." https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RAF_Rudloe_Manor.


	3. Chapter 3

###  _ Scene 11 - Baskerville Hall… (3rd day early evening ) _

Sherlock had done a remarkable job arranging a sumptuous five course meal with wine for each course and coffee and single malt scotch for later.

Greg looked radiant in the candle light dressed in a slate grey linen shirt and black trousers. He was preoccupied with the food which Mycroft found rather unusual. 

Meticulously piercing each portion, he glanced at it, slowly raised it to his mouth, his tongue darting out to slide it out of the fork; breathing in the aroma and then slowly chewing on it, smacking his lips after.

The dinner was a silent affair, the only sound that of the clanging of cutlery and occasional passing of dishes between the two of them; the table being quite a long one, able to seat three members on either side.

They sat on the only two chairs placed opposite each other in the centre with easy access to both sides of the table.

Mycroft had always hated small talk unless it had any diplomatic significance and so spoke minimally.

After desert Mycroft rose to pour coffee but Greg volunteered, “I’ll do it.”

Acquiescing with a rather stiff nod and tight set lips Mycroft sat back and watched Greg chew his lower lip while handling the pot carefully.

“Do you cook?” the question was spoken more as a thought expressed aloud. Surprised by his own question, Mycroft closed his eyes, silently berating himself for losing guard over his emotions, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“A little. Mostly frozen food, microwaveable stuff.” Greg placed Mycroft’s cup in front of him and continued, “Although, when I get time I tend to experiment. My mum’s cooking was an inspiration for me in my younger days.” 

“Milk?” he smiled while asking.

Mycroft simply shook his head.

“Sugar?” Seeing him hesitate, Greg added one lump and asked, “Two?” while adding the second cube.

Mycroft licked his lips and rolled his tongue over the lower one.

* * *

  
  


###  _ Scene 12 - The Diogenes… (Present day…) _

“We had dinner, I remember. You were wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, a green jumper? and glasses?” The Inspector spoke doubtfully. Greg had sat himself on the sofa, his head resting on his palms, elbows planted on his thighs, fingers digging deep into his scalp.

He looked up suddenly with disbelief in his brown eyes at the immaculately attired clean shaven slicked hair Govt Official, blue eyes staring back at him. “And you had a red beard; fiery, glowing hint of a beard .. maybe two days growth?” The Inspector asked curiously.

“You seem to remember quite accurately,” Mycroft smiled softly, walking over to the chair opposite the sofa, separated by a coffee table.

Greg stared at Mycroft, seeing yet unseeing.

“What is it?” Mycroft was disconcerted by the Inspector’s attention.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you smile. Not the artful, cynical, scornful smiles, but a genuine one. It’s fetching,” Greg finished the sentence in a whisper and sighing sank back into the sofa, closing his eyes.

* * *

###  _ Scene 13 - Baskerville Hall… (evening...) _

Mycroft studied the Inspector’s demeanor closely hoping to notice a chink in the facade, draw out the inhabitant.

“I have always detested cooking. Not that it isn’t rewarding. Like any other work it has its positive outcome. But to waste all that energy and time for something that has the sole purpose of nourishing one’s constitution …

“Well, it can be done using simpler means. I would rather opt for simpler methods.”

The lofty look that Mycroft wore drew the attention of the shadowed presence in the Inspector who replaced his cup on the saucer and watched Mycroft intently.

“Of course I do tend to get very little time to myself considering the nature of my work ..”

Mycroft’s rambling was cut short by the sudden clang of the saucer on the table. He looked up to see Gerg’s eyes bore the empty cup with a dull stare.

“More coffee?” Mycroft asked evasively.

Greg looked up at him , tilted his head to the side, his eyes reflecting the storm brewing outside. Sitting back, the DI crossed his arms across his chest, crossed his legs one knee over the other and said, “So if you had a partner who’d been working for 24 hours straight, coming home hungry and tired, would you volunteer to cook for him or would you expect him to cook and feed you?”

Stunned by the directness of the question Mycroft assessed the emotional state of the Inspector, doubting the true person behind the question. Giving a dry smile, he lazily replied, “I suppose I will order a take away.”

“Looks can be deceiving can’t they?” the Inspector observed.

Wrinkling his brow Mycroft lowered the corners of his lips and shrugged his shoulders in answer.

“Then what is this all about?” the Inspector continued, spreading his arms across the table.

Mycroft raised both eyebrows rolled his tongue along his cheek and said, “Well,  _ I _ didn't cook if that is what you are implying.”

The insensitive tone seemed to rile up the Inspector who moved forward in one fluid motion, rested his elbows on the table and looking directly at Mycroft said carefully, “Think you can impress me with fanciful stuff, do you? Tell those behind the scheming I’m not going anywhere and you cannot make me.”

With that Greg rose from the table and walked away.

* * *

###  _ Scene 14 - The Diogenes… (present day) _

“Did we quarrel?” the Inspector sounded disturbed.

Greg held a glass of whiskey in his palm watching the liquid as if it would reveal the truth.

“Not exactly,” Mycroft carefully answered. Mycroft preferred introspecting to discussing, unlike Greg who liked to think aloud.

Sherlock had warned him that though the entity had been safely transferred back to the artefact, it’s influence on the inspector could last longer than anyone could predict. Only Lestrade would be able to tell what exactly happened and how he felt with the presence inside him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


###  _ Scene 15- Baskerville Hall… (evening....) _

“Gregory,” Mycroft pleaded, having swiftly reached by the inspector’s side before he had taken 3 steps. “Please do not leave. I beg your forgiveness. I was simply being truthful about myself. And hoped that you would appreciate it.”

Greg turned slowly, without blinking or saying anything, slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and gave an imperceptible nod.

“Come. Let us have some of that single malt,” Mycroft placed a hand on the Inspector’s arm and gently led him to a couple of chairs by the fireplace.

“Since we have never spoken of anything other than what pertains to my brother, I think maybe we should try to get to know each other a little more before hastily arriving at conclusions that could misrepresent one another.”

Greg licked his lips while watching the fire, no evidence of having heard what Mycroft said who observed him from the corner of his eye while pouring their drinks.

“Is there anything that you would like to know about me?” Mycroft persisted.

“Why are you here?”

Mycroft was taken aback by the bluntness of the question.

“You were not well and needed medical attention but the sedation was pulling you under. My presence seemed to make you calmer. So it was decided that I shall stay here for the duration of your .. treatment.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

Flabbergasted, Mycroft stood by his chair, drink in hand, lips pursed, left hand in his trouser pocket. Rolling his tongue along his cheek, he took a deep breath and said, “You seem to be having unexplainable blackouts and bouts of restlessness; unable to give account for your actions at times.”

“You think that I could hurt someone.”

The statement sounded like a confession from the entity.

“No; but if you were to lose consciousness while driving, or say crossing the road, you could harm yourself.”

“So I’m ... suicidal?” the Inspector seemed to complete his sentence.

Sighing Mycroft shook his head and lowered himself into the chair.

“What is it that you are after?” he asked the entity, staring directly at Greg.

* * *

###  _ Scene 16- The Diogenes… present day... _

“Was it actually a spirit?” Greg’s question brought Mycroft back to the present.

Sighing he replied, “Nothing can be proven scientifically. A definite presence was recorded by the camera footage. Sherlock mentioned that you refused to view the recording,” Mycroft added as an afterthought.

The Inspector remained silent, making the government official wonder if they had taken drastic measures to get him rid of the entity, thus causing more damage than could be repaired.

“I remember you being very gentlemanly,” Greg spoke quietly after taking a gulp of the whisky. “Though the whiskey seemed to taste better,” he added wryly, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he looked into the crystal glass.

Mycroft let out an involuntary “Hmph”. 

Greg looked at the smiling government official and raised his eyebrows.

* * *

###  _ Scene 17… Baskerville Hall… evening... _

“I want you to be frank with me,” the DI stated, sitting back, drink in hand.

“I thought that I was,” Mycroft said rather exasperatedly.

Greg pursed his lips and licked them, saying, “No, you’re not.”

“You are beating about the bush.” Mycroft argued.

“Am I?”

Both stared at each other and Mycroft was not sure if he was speaking to the DI or the entity.

“How old are you?”

Mycroft’s question threw the DI who squirmed a little in his chair. Inhaling deeply, he straightened his back and replied slowly, “Centuries ..”

Narrowing his eyes the government official sat back mirroring the DI’s pose.

“Have you thought about what you would do if the heart simply gave out?”

The DI sat still, eyes glazed.

“You would rather not return to your previous abode if I am not mistaken,” Mycroft pushed on. “And you would do anything to hold on to what you have now.” His investigative side taking over.

Pausing for his words to have the desired effect Mycroft continued, “ If you really are a compassionate soul you will help us find a solution to this.”

Greg had uncrossed his legs and placed the empty glass on the coffee table.

Mycroft sat forward glass in hand and said, “Are you a compassionate soul? I think you are. Or else, considering your prowess, all of us would be dead by now.”

Raising an eyebrow, with a tilt of his head Mycroft rolled his tongue along his cheek, held the glass up to the fire and asked, “May I infer from your silence that you would like to trust me and accept my proposition?”

“What is your interest in this?” Greg’s voice had changed, gruff and hollow.

Mycroft sat very still realising that the entity had decided to emerge and speak to him openly. He needed his wits about him. There could be only once chance to get this right. Trusting that Sherlock was ready and standing by he spoke, “Personal.”

The dry cackling laugh that filled the night air drowned the howling of the wind. It was alien to the usual friendly guffaw of the Inspector.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

###  _ Scene 18- The Diogenes… present day... _

Mycroft couldn’t hide the look of surprise from his face; remembering the contorted look on Lestrade’s face when the entity had cackled at him for being blunt in his reply. He couldn’t help wonder if the Inspector remembered the events with as much clarity as he did.

“How much do you remember?”

Greg frowned, bit his lip and shrugged. “I attacked you?” he said slowly, as if recollecting something long forgotten.

* * *

###  _ Scene 19- Baskerville Hall… evening... _

#####  {flash back}

“Would you give yourself up? Take his place?” The voice grew hoarser, louder, echoing in the old manor.

The rain pattered on the window, a reminder of the world outside.

“I didn’t think so,” the entity scorned watching the silent pale government official. “That is the value you place on your loved one’s life,” it continued.

Mycroft steepled his fingers, thoughtfully watching the changes in the DI. Greg cocked his head to a side, smiled cruelly and the voice spoke “You are right. I have no intention of leaving.” The ominous tone seeped into Mycroft’s being.

The Ice Man took a deep breath, moved forward in his chair, rested his elbows on his thighs, joined his palms, slowly intertwined his fingers and in a calm voice questioned the entity, “If I was to give myself as the host, will the Inspector be free from any danger? Can you promise that?”

“It is not that simple.” The low growl was a warning.

“What then must be done?” Mycroft asked, sounding resolved. He knew what he was getting into, that the entity had already chosen him.

The glow from the fireplace reflected in his steely blue eyes.

Greg sat forward, his eyes as dark as the new moon night outside, face reflecting the glow from the fireplace.

The downpour had started, thunder rumbling and the wind still howling, the sliver of the new moon hidden away behind the clouds. A crack of lightning illuminated the strained face of the DI. Mycroft wanted to believe that the crippled shadow he saw was only a hallucination.

“You simply are a coward. Preying on the weak. With no guts to face an equal. I challenge you to confront me as yourself, your true self. Without hiding behind a man whose heart you have sullied by your mere presence.”

The low calm tone of the Ice Man belied the rage that brewed in his heart. The words though struck at the very soul of his adversary. Before he could finish his challenge the Inspector had flown out of his chair and pounced on Mycroft whose voice rose as he finished what he had to say.

The outcome must have been unexpected for the chair that Mycroft sat in was thrown back, both the DI and the government official toppling along with it.

Greg’s grip on Mycroft’s neck tightened at the close of the sentence rendering him speechless. The colour rose in that pale neck, flushing his face from anger, suffocation and the effort to not harm the Inspector.

Closing his eyes to overcome the hesitancy in tackling Lestrade, Mycroft launched himself off his floored seat by planting his heel firmly on the floor and throwing his body across the room, carrying the DI along with him, pinning the man by his shoulders and thighs onto the floor.

* * *

###  _ Scene 20 - The Diogenes _

#####  {present day}

“I returned the attack. So we are even.” Mycroft gave a tight smile and rose to fill their glasses.

“Did you mean it?” Greg’s voice was so soft that it would have been drowned by the clinking of the bottle had Mycroft not paused upon hearing the intake of breath.

He knew what the Inspector was referring to and yet felt the need to confirm. “Mean what?” Mycroft asked, his voice steady, as though he was at some soiree.

“What you said, when I lay on the floor, .. that, .. about us,” Greg’s voice trembled. 

He had feared this moment would come, though he’d hoped that Greg wouldn’t remember the details and thus would be spared from laying his soul bare to the one person in the world who knew who’d understand why he had to do it - attempt to sacrifice himself.

* * *

###  _ Scene 21 _

#####  {flash back}

“Show yourself you bastard. Fight like a man, if you ever were one,” Mycroft growled as Greg’s grip on his neck loosened. Strangling Greg with his thin long fingers, he continued, “You cannot and will not have him. He is mine.” Mycroft muttered. 

“Coward!” the entity cried out, “You do not deserve him!” it wailed.

“Even so, he is mine. I will protect him, if it means I have to spend eternity with you,” Mycroft whispered in his ear, pulling the limp form of the Inspector from the floor and hurtling to the table laden with empty dishes.

Throwing himself along with the Inspector to the edge he shouted, “Now!”

* * *

###  _ Scene 22 - The Diogenes _

#####  {present day}

“I ..” Mycroft paused then started afresh, “I didn’t..” but didn’t get to continue.

“Don’t worry. I simply needed to know,” Greg reassured him, his voice calm, resolved. 

Walking over to the government official, Greg drained his glass of whiskey and  then walked towards the door.

Mycroft gulped the contents of his in one go and placed the glass on the sideboard making to follow the DI.

* * *

###  _ Scene 23 _

#####  {flash back}

Sherlock and John rushed to the Hall. While John pulled the half conscious form of Lestrade onto the table, Sherlock cleared the table in one sweep of his hand and together they secured his limbs to the table’s legs with what looked like chains made of silver with wires passing through it.

“What are you doing?” the entity wailed, pulling at the restraints.

“You said I was lying and I am going to prove it,” Mycroft walked over to John who was standing by the head of the DI and said, “The controls.”

Greg twisted his neck trying to get a look at them.

“Mycroft?”

John was surprised by the deceptive normalcy of the Inspector and opened his mouth but one look from Sherlock made him close it tightly and frown. He gave Mycroft a small switch box from which the wires ran all the way to the chains and ended inside the cuffs clasped to the DI’s wrists and ankles.

“I am going to increase the voltage until you give up that body and come out.” Mycroft uttered each word deliberately, then paused.

“Yes. I lied. I shall do whatever it takes to capture you and return you to your abode, so that you can never harm another living soul,” he added, the coldness in his voice making John look at him, then at the prone form of the DI.

“ _ Noooo _ ” the entity howled, unable to move, the restraints having the desired effect. “I shall leave him, I promise.”

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock who moved closer, holding the coin out. 

Carefully taking it between his thumb and index fingers, Mycroft looked at the prone unconscious form of the DI and asked clearly, “Are you willing to return to your abode?”

“ _ I am! _ ” it cried.

“Then tell me what to do.” Mycroft addressed it as he examined the coin.

“Place your little finger in the hole. Then rotate the outer rim while reading the inscription backwards,” the entity spoke coldly, it's deceptiveness evident.

John looked alarmed. He had watched the brothers decipher the writings and translate the language together in less than an hour. They were aware of the hidden needle in the centre. He simply didn’t trust the spirit. It had to be a ruse. Giving up this easily.

One glance and Sherlock read the meaning. He stilled Mycroft’s arm, took out a magnet from his coat pocket, the size of a pencil lead and inserted it into the hole, keeping the iron needle in place.

Mycroft deftly turned the outer rim while reading the inscription in reverse.

Greg opened his eyes. They were fiery red. A low wail rose from his partly opened lips. The glowing eyes turned green, the wailing rose and as Mycroft concluded the reading the Inspector’s body arched up, chest expanding, mouth wide open, limbs taught.

A silvery vapour escaped from Greg’s mouth, swirling down to tiny holes that appeared along the letters inscribed on the coin.

* * *

#####  {flash back}

Mycroft stood statuesquely. His fingers gave away his emotion. The thumb moving restlessly along the imprinted words while the other hand kept rotating it. 

Sherlock gently pried away the artefact from him and left the room with John close at his heels.

A whimper and then a groan brought Mycroft out of his trance. Gently placing a hand on the shackled limbs, he removed them one by one meticulously.

Freed, the DI slowly curled up on the table, drawing his limbs close to his chest, holding them with his hands. As the whimpering grew, Mycroft lost all semblance of self-control and bent down pulling Greg close to him.

In one sweep he lifted the shuddering form of the inspector and carried him nimbly up the stairs to his bedroom.

* * *

###  _ Scene 24 _

#####  {present day}

“Thank you,” the DI whispered on his way out.

“Wait!” Mycroft reached the door before Greg could step out.

The Inspector paused, fingers clasping the door handle tightly. “You don’t have to explain. I’m alright with this. Whatever it is that we have. ‘Platonic’? Isn’t that how it’s labelled?”

Mycroft was confused for a moment. He’d thought Greg was referring to his almost electrocuting him. Going back through the scenario, the Ice Man slowly realised that Greg must have been totally unconscious during the ‘exorcism’. A slow smile dawned on those thin lips.

Removing the DI’s clasp gently from the handle the government official closed the door and leant against it eyeing the Inspector thoughtfully.

* * *

#####  {present day}

Mycroft took a step forward, his hands twitching, wanting desperately to draw the DI closer, but instead sedately asked, “You have no memory of what happened after being shackled?”

Greg stared at Mycroft. Licking his lips he simply shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“Nothing?” the government official persisted, his voice a whisper as he closed the gap running his tongue along his lower lip.

They were but an inch apart. Greg breathed in and looked at the pink tip of the tongue that had darted out wetting those thin lips. Involuntarily his lips parted.

“We shared a bed...” Mycroft whispered as he inched forward, their chests almost touching.

Greg took a shuddering breath and gasped, “What?”

Mycroft’s chest rumbled with suppressed laughter. “You slept in my bed. Nothing more,” he whispered in the Inspector’s ear, his breath giving the DI gooseflesh.

“Oh,” Greg replied softly and laughed silently.

“We can keep this .. ‘platonic’, if that’s what you desire,” Mycroft continued, his hands moving up along the DI’s arms, never touching him. Breathing out audibly, “It is up to you,” he said, his voice almost inaudible, making Greg dizzy with desire.

“I thought you said it’s complicated?” Greg argued back, his voice breaking from the strain; desperately wanting to lean in.

“There are ways to .. simplify it,” Mycroft whispered, his tongue almost touching Greg’s earlobe.

A slow rumble rose from the Inspector’s chest that grew into a guffaw. Lifting his hands he moved them through the unbuttoned jacket, encircled the waist of the government official and between bursts of laughter said, “You really are a bastard,” his head buried in that inviting pale neck.

Mycroft’s sly smile was hidden in the Inspector’s hair as the government official finally raised his arms to slide his fingers under Greg’s jacket, while closing his eyes to memorise the sensation of their first touch.

A hint of fire lurking under the steely blue eyes of the Ice Man.

* * *


End file.
